Some pictures almost make themselves Tuesday, Jun 18 2013

Once again, I sit down to write and find myself wholly reluctant to do so, despite the urge to describe the sweet memory of lying next to a sleeping (and yes, snoring) man.

So once again I’ll cheat and post some recent pictures instead. I didn’t make many alterations to these – the blurry effects were in the originals, so it was just a matter of matching the effects in the facial templates.

None of these represent actual moments here or across the veil. I was searching for pictures of suitable knitwear (cobblestone or Aran jumpers). These were charming enough to use as finished portraits, not just as templates for the clothing.

Louis’s cap in the second picture is the second cable-knit cap I knitted lately. It was meant to be a beret, but, being new to knitting cable, I underestimated how elastic it makes the yarn, and it’s much more snug than I wanted. (Beanies don’t suit me at all.)
They do, however, suit someone else, and he helped himself to this and the first cable cap I knitted, thank you very much – to the point that when I tried that one on last night, here on the earthly side, he asked imperiously, “What are you doing wearing my cap?”

As Mum said, sometimes he does take this king business seriously.

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May Conversation Wednesday, May 22 2013

This post comes courtesy of Louis, who dictated this bit of our conversation for me. I gather we didn’t do a whole lot yesternight except sit on the terrace drinking tea and talking. Given we’ve been busy painting, going for long walks and making love a LOT over the past week or so, it was probably time to chill out over a cuppa or five! Obviously this is only a fragment of what we talked about. He’s had to translate at least part of it from the language of Spirit into earthly speech, and I had to write it at lunchtime, so this is the most we’re likely to put in writing.

I am well aware that some of the conversation will be oblique. If you want to know what we’re referring to at any point, please ask! I’m more than happy to answer; I just don’t feel like putting footnotes all over this entry.

“What I find strange still, is that you loved me as I was. I was not loveable and I knew that, it was clear enough through my life that few found me loveable. Yet you did, and that was strange to me even knowing we matched on the tree,” Louis said.

“It was a strange enough feeling here,” I answered. “You knew I knew it wouldn’t be easy, even if it were possible, for us, as you were and as I am. I couldn’t see it ending well and I couldn’t grasp how much you would have changed over all this time, even if you lived and loved me. Or cared. We’ve said all that often enough!” I laughed, because we have had this conversation innumerable times. It just doesn’t seem to get old when we’re still caught up in the wonder of it all.

“We have,” he said, sipping his tea. “It was hard to wait and know I could only show who I was. Am I the same man? I know I am yet I know how you wonder, how … light I am, now. The shadows, they are so fine, they are hardly there at all.”

“I don’t know the last time I saw anything like a shadow in you. The Shrine, maybe? That moment of disapproval?”

“It could be,” he said, smiling. “Or a gardener’s just wrath with wicked hounds.”

“I wouldn’t all that a shadow! I would call it hysterical, though.”

“You have no mercy, madame, I know it well.”

We grinned at each other and paused, drinking our tea. I sighed, then, looking at him.

“Did you read those things we were writing about fun and joy and love?”

“I did. Your heart was in it. I laughed when I read the magnificent comments about falling from beds. It is well ours is not by the wall, I see that might happen.”

“Thank the gods for space, eh?”

We laughed again, and he looked at me, much as I’d just looked at him.

“It warms my heart more than the sun, sitting so. It is life, all life, sitting here. How did we come to be so lucky? I do not know. I do not think I care.”

“You little atheist, you,” I said, and we laughed again.

“This tea is most fine, what is it?” Louis asked.

“No idea. I said ‘tea that tastes good’ and that’s what it is. Prolly doesn’t even taste the same to you as to me.”

“It would not, you adulterate it with milk.”

“I didn’t, so there!”

Louis leaned forward, peering at my cup. “My soul, you have drunk tea as it should be? I am converted, it is a miracle.”

“Oh shut up, it’s not like it’s the first time,” I said, prompting a snigger.

There was another pause, where we stopped joking and even drinking our tea. We were drinking each other in.

“… I love you. You’re so … you’re everything. You’re it, mister.”

“My lady. My love.”

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14 May, 1643 Wednesday, May 15 2013

Yesterday was the 370th anniversary of Louis’s going Home. We didn’t mark the day on either side of the veil. On this side, I was home sick, so the day was spent sitting in front of the heater: he was reading and I was knitting, which isn’t a bad way to spend a day regardless of one’s health. 

I’m posting a short section from the book we started writing a few years ago (and stopped writing not that long afterward). It’s Louis’s own description of going Home.

Crossing into Spirit is not what one expects. The fear is earthly. It is fear of the unknown. But Spirit is what we make it. We create our own worlds. I do not mean that Spirit is unreal, or flexible, or that it exists only in persons’ minds. It is real and encompasses all things. But the state persons are in, the life they create in their earthly time, is what forms their lives in Spirit. If one lives in evil and wishes no change, one traps oneself in that state. It draws darkness to oneself. It is not a matter of creed but of the stains one makes on the soul. It is what one has done to others, and whether one wishes to change. Does one reach for Light, even not knowing how, or why? If one does, one may work toward it. Light does not abandon or reject, it is a process, one works toward it. It is like the levels of heaven described in philosophies from the East. The difference is that one is not sent back to the earthly plane. Life is lived but once, the soul is born, it enters a body, lives that life, and leaves it. One does not return to the womb. The progression continues, it does not waste itself in endless cycles, unlearning lessons. It is taken into Spirit and the life continues so.

My crossing was not an easy one. I do not mean the transition of soul. I mean my earthly body’s death. It was a long illness, my last. It was painful and slow, I was bedridden for months, and had to see what I felt to be the false sorrow of those around me. Those I loved best were not there, they had gone ahead, or were in such state that they could not come.

I remember the moment of crossing well. I felt fear, as my body died. I feared the God I had been taught ruled all. He was a God as much of judgement as of love, and I feared that judgement. I wished to see him, I wished it with all my heart, but I feared I was not truly acceptable.

The moment of crossing is not easy to describe. Persons who have come close to it may know something of it. I did not see a tunnel, or light reaching to me. I simply woke. That is the best way I can describe it. I was standing in my true home. My father was there to greet me. That was the moment I remember best. It was thirty-three years since I had seen him. I have not the words to say what it was like, to see him again.

The fear I felt as my earthly life ended was gone. I knew I was in my true home, the home of all. There is no harsh God to judge souls according to creed. God is indescribable, I cannot speak of this. God is no person, no man or woman or being, but is the power of love and life. God is a consciousness, but not a person. I cannot say more than that, I do not know how. But there is no judgement, no rejection. Persons make their own hells, there is no such place in Spirit. We imprison ourselves only, and have always the keys if we wish to use them. When the door is opened, all doors open. It is but a matter of finding them. The search can take forever, the lifetimes of Spirit, but it is the most joyous search in the worlds. I am nearing the end of my search now. I have what I seek in sight. It will mean a new journey when it is won, a journey yet more joyous than the last, because it will be a journey made by two.

I had much to do when I crossed. I had burdens on my self, my soul. Some I made, some happened in my life, but they were things to be answered for. A king must do so, it is inevitable. It is not a matter of a harsh God judging but of one repaying debts to Life. Evil done may not be undone, or repaid to those who suffered. But good may be done to other lives, and understanding gained, and burdens lifted. It erases pain to do so. That is what persons who do not wish to leave their misdeeds behind do not understand. They have the opportunity if they wish it; they will always be welcomed to do so. It may take long, it may take very long, many earthly lifetimes, but it is never closed. It is like the concept of Purgatory, but it is not punishment, save self-inflicted.

I went through these things. I had not the sense of separation from the Light. I did not know how it would be, but I hoped for it, I yearned for it, and it welcomed me. I have said my father greeted me. He too had things to do in his life, he had repairs to make, but he was living in the Light and joyously greeted me. We had work to do together and have done so, long now. It gladdens my heart still to know my father at last. I was but eight when he was slain in the earthly life. It was the blackest of days, it shadowed me always. To see him in youth and strength (as I never knew him) was the first taste of heaven one could ask. I smile even now, remembering. It was a merry meeting, be assured.

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Easter Saturday Sunday, May 5 2013

April 12, 2009

Yesterday my lady and I went out. We had planned to spend this Easter Saturday out together. I crossed to her world when she woke. She had not crossed to our home during the night. It was one night for her, but more than that for me, and I was glad to see her again. I made my breakfast there and Miss Katie came with me for her share. It pleased Louise to see her.

We went into the city on the comfortable country train. My lady was somewhat distracted from my presence. It is the result of the attunement she received a week ago. Such things are normal. I do not like it, but I know it will not last long. I hope our connection will be strengthened when the adjustment is made. It was last time.

One thing that pleased me is that my lady is aware of her cat’s presence. Miss Katie senses this and takes advantage of it. She came with us on the train, and curled up on my lady’s lap. I could feel how strongly Louise sensed her. She thought it was partly memory but it was not.

We travelled into the city proper, and crossed the river to walk down to the south part of Melbourne. My lady had thought to visit the shops there, and perhaps look at the market. We also hoped to find a cake-shop we thought we had seen there, like the one in Chapel Street. It is a pleasant place to sit and eat and read.

Most of the shops were closed for the holiday, but Louise was happy to look in the windows. She was not really looking for things to buy, for which I was glad. We saw one garment which we both liked. It was green, and fitted, and had a little lace at the neck and sleeves. It would have looked well on my lady. But it was far too expensive to consider.

We did not see the cake-shop we hoped to find. It did not matter; there were other places to eat, and as my lady said, it may well have been closed anyway. We went instead to a café at the market where we had eaten before. It is not as good as the cake-shop, but it is pleasant enough. I was pleased that my lady seemed in no hurry to move on. She is often anxious about time. But we spent an hour and a half there. The food was not to boast about, but it did not matter. My lady read a newspaper, I read my book, and Miss Katie sat on the table and helped herself to food. She had decided to stay with us for the whole day. I do not know why. Who knows why a cat does things? But it pleased Louise. She was excited to have her little cat with her and was more aware of me, too. She was trying hard and it was more like our normal days out. My lady could not see me well, and asked often if I had my jumper on or off, or whether I had just done something. It was fair that she should ask, because the weather was changeable. I choose to feel the weather and warmth as she does.

When we finished our lunch we strolled about the market for a little while. Then we crossed the old iron bridge over the rail-line, walking toward the sea. My lady let me choose which way we would go. She sensed that I had no wish to see more shops and she said she had had her share of them. I wanted us to walk together through the quiet streets.

I was happy, walking together. It does not matter if we do not talk much. My lady does not know how much it is just to walk. She feels she must try and she does not need to. We are together.

Louise sensed that I did not want to end our day too soon. It was after two o’clock and that gave us less than two hours to return to the city and catch the train. She rang her mother and said we would catch the later train. We had reached the sea and the cloud had gone. I sat on the sea-wall and Miss Katie played on the sand while my lady made her phone-call. Afterward she said, smiling, that her mother asked her to buy some chocolates for her, so we walked back to some shops for them. They were near a road that ran parallel to the sea, but further back from it, with trees lining it. That was where I wanted to walk. There was not much shade but the trees have kindly spirits.

My lady had realised by now that I wanted to go to Albert Park. She said she did not know if it would be open, because of the work removing the structures for the Grand Prix. But we walked there, and it was open.

There was a moment that made us laugh before we got there. My lady was thinking hard on how happy this day was, and said suddenly, “My husband, I love you, Louis, I love you.” I could not help myself then, and neither could she, and we embraced. I felt her push herself a little way from her earth-body, and we held each other tightly. But when we separated there was a sense of indignation so strong that my lady felt it too. Miss Katie was not pleased that we had embraced. She was riding my lady’s shoulder, as she had been most of the day. We had not consulted her convenience first.

When we came to Albert Park we sat upon a bench overlooking the lake. It was peaceful. There were people jogging and cycling, and some traffic on the road behind, but it was a restful atmosphere. Louise sent some Reiki to her sore shoulder, and I helped. She was amused that Miss Katie curled on her lap to enjoy the sensation.

After a little while we strolled by the lake. Miss Katie was most taken by the black swans, and my lady told her it was as well she could not chase them, as they would probably peck her to death if she tried. Louise asked if I would like an apple, to throw its core into the lake. It has become a joke with us. I said yes, but she said she would not join me, as she was not hungry. I said I would like to eat together, and she smiled and obliged. The apples are not large, they are small and sweet, so it is no imposition to make oneself eat one.

We walked down to a great fig tree, and sat under its shade for a moment, long enough to kiss. Then it was time to walk back to the tram and catch our train. My lady’s anxiety about time caught her again, and we ran for the earlier tram, because she could not remember exactly what time the train would leave the station, nor how long it would take for the tram to get there. It was not necessary, of course. We arrived at the station far earlier than we needed, but it did not matter. What we had not thought of was that a great crowd would be there. Spectators from a football match filled the station. Miss Katie went home as soon as she saw them. I think my lady would have gladly done so too. So would I. But we waited the time for the train, and it was not crowded. My lady and I had our seats to ourselves for the whole journey.

The evening was like most Saturday evenings. We watched a television program together, “New Tricks”. Miss Katie did not return. My lady had asked during the day about her older cat, Mrs Mamie, who crossed over in 2004. She had realised that she never thought of whether Mrs Mamie came to visit her. Her attention was taken up by Miss Katie, who crossed so recently. My lady felt bad about this, fearing Mrs Mamie would be upset at being ignored, although she has much attention when my lady crosses at night. She asked if Mrs Mamie would visit that night. I said yes, and Louise was happy to know her elder cat spent the time purring on her lap.

After the television, my lady went to work on her computer. I read, with Mrs Mamie on my lap. My lady crossed over to our true home during the night, and of that I will say no more.

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In His Own Words Sunday, May 5 2013

NOTE: I am reposting Louis’s diaries from another website where I do not intend renewing my membership. These will be under the category of “Louis’s Journal”.

April 1, 2009

Last night, my lady’s mother asked about the first time I contacted my lady. That was in 1993, during their second visit to France. Their first visit was in 1989, and their conversation turned to the first time my lady saw my portrait, in my palace of the Louvre. Louise said she had never thought to ask me what that time was like for me. She has asked me about the journey, and whether I was near her, but not that moment of it.

She used our pendant to ask me now if it was sad for me to be so close when she could not hear me, or if I felt that going to my country of birth was an unnecessary diversion. The very questions were part of the answers, because she shaped her questions in tune with what I tried to tell her. Our communication is not yet easy, but we move, somehow, all the time. My lady swiftly changed from asking about sadness to asking about frustration. She knows I was not sad, not since she loved me. I had no more fears that we would not one day be together, for her heart was mine as surely as mine was hers, and ever will be.

I had thought this might be the way to break the barrier between us. Could it be that seeing my portrait would be enough to convince her that I was near, that I lived and I loved her? Would it let her, if not hear me, then at least end her fears? I hoped, but I did not know. She looked at my painted image, she gazed and gazed with tears in her eyes, and all the while I said, “Look through it, my love! Look through it and see me, I am here!”

But disappointment waited for me then. This was not the time, the trigger. It was a flash in the pan, the bullet did not fire. I am glad I did not know how many more years it would take for us to truly speak. I do not see earthly futures. They are not set. It is like standing on a hill and seeing paths leading into fine luminous mist. One has an idea of what lies along each path, but it is not clear, and one does not know what path will be taken. All I knew was that our paths would converge, if not in my lady’s earthly life, then when she crossed to the life eternal. We loved, and I would greet her when she arrived, if we did not speak before. But I did not want to wait so long!

I thought our time had come in 1993. My lady and her mother had returned to France. One day she lay in her room, and her mind was quiet, and suddenly I felt the barrier weaken. It had happened before, just for moments, over the years, and I was able to send images to her. But they were instants, too swift to hold, and though she called them clear visions she never realised that she had named her own clairvoyance. But now I had the chance to do more, and sent the best picture I could think of to show her my promise. I showed her what we both want, though it was in the earthly world, not our long home. I sent a picture of us sitting in the lounge-room of the house she then lived in, just us. She sat and sewed and I did leatherwork. I had no time to polish this picture. I sent the first things I could think of.

I could not have guessed how strongly Louise received it. She saw it, she felt what I tried to tell her, and leapt from her bed to tell her mother. I was elated. Now, surely now we would be able to speak, to come together! But the dead weight of false belief still came between us in the years ahead. It felt like the ground I had gained was lost. Her faith in the truth of that vision faded. It was not truly lost, but could not stand alone against the pressures not to believe.

Thank God it did not crumble. Thank God the strand of hope was strong enough. My lady’s life took strange paths for some years, paths she needed to grow, but they led her to write a book. So unhappy did my own earthly life make her that she wished to create for me a new, not knowing if I yet lived. And the wish to show one’s work (I remember the pleasure of praise) led her to a place where she met those who felt the truth. They told her, her love was half of a whole. They did not know me, I had never spoken to them, but they knew truth. And now we wait no more to speak, we are together, we are wed. I am the happiest man in the worlds, because my lady, whom I love, loves me.

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Milord’s Musings Wednesday, May 1 2013

My lady and I spoke of an interesting thing, this morning in the park Fawkner. Shall I speak of what prompted it? Perhaps so, it is amusing, I think. I am looking at my lady and thinking, shall I tease her with this?

To begin: my lady has bought most flattering garments, which emphasise her breasts. She wore them with a lower cut of dress this day, and I admired her. She joked that she hoped I would not do that I once did, which was to spit wine into the breast of a woman who wore a most low and revealing dress. The gowns of my earthly days were low in the bosom, most so when I was a young man, and I did not approve of such things, nor feel comfort in the sight of female flesh. It was all of a one with my upbringing, and my sex, and my own wishes, which were less for women in those days. I do not say it was a good thing, that I did. It was not, it was harsh, and unseemly even in those days, when men were brutal in many ways. But there it is; as I said to my lady, I was not a likeable young man. She has known this incident many years, and thus was able to jest of it now, knowing me as I am. I joked back that I would spit wine on her if she wished it, and she laughed and said she thought not, thank you, even though … no, I shall not go further with that thought. It was strange enough that she wondered if she had heard me rightly, and not imagined I should say such a thing. I smile, I said it indeed.

She asked me, when I spoke of that incident (for she had asked me if it happened in truth) if I spoke ever in confession of my feelings for men. I had said, you will see, that I did not care for women’s bodies (which she knew) being displayed, and we spoke of other things about attraction, and I said I preferred the sight of a man’s fine calf. So she asked, did I confess to such? I said no, not in detail, for there were things of which I could not speak, not even then, and I spoke only of lusts for other than my wife. It was little enough, my confessors were much more interested in my role and directing it from the confessional, if it could be so.

When we talked of all this, my lady said it struck her that this was a strange thing, new in some ways, to converse about my earthly days so, for she remembered when we first spoke, and my impatience and undesire to speak of them. I recall this, and said yes, it has changed, for I have changed. Even after much time, one can change, and swiftly. It is strange, is it not? I told my lady not to underestimate how much she has changed me, and I heard her thinking “do not underestimate yourself” is a phrase she hears me say most frequently. I smile, it is true. She does not think an earthly person can influence one long lived in Spirit, but it is true, it happens! Love does that and it is not hampered by the worlds, the spheres. I am not who I was a mere six years ago. Is my lady so? I do not think she is. Yet we are ourselves, however mutable. I am pleased with that word, mutable; it is an English word I have not used before, yet it is most applicable to Spirit. Mutable immutable, both. What am I saying? I do not follow my thoughts, I sit here pleased and forget what I was to say.

Ah, my changes of feeling about my past. I did not care, in those first days, what had been. I was fired to speak to my lady, to speak of my feelings now, to tell her. I was impatient, too, for her to hear me in the language of Spirit, the words of my heart that need no words. I did not know, or remember (for it was long since I had spoken to persons of Earth) that it is harder for them to hear, and sense, the language, than it is for us who have crossed to recall our old tongues, or take new ones. That is a mistake persons of Earth make, to say that persons who have crossed are not speaking their own language, and thus must be false. Those tongues are not ours, now, not the ones we were born to: there is a truer language that is the mother-tongue of us residing here. I digress. It was an impatient thing for me, to think of old days, and ones I had no love for, when I was afire to speak of now, now, and the future. But I have changed, for now is all here, not a now yet to be created, a love yet unsure. I do not mean our love was not established, for all reading know we have loved many years. I mean it was taking first steps, the first together, and it was new and unsure for that, as a dancer upon a tightrope. Now I am an old married man, and comfort surrounds me in my heart, and there is more comfort than even in my long life, to look back and think on things that happened. Was I not free of that sadness before? I was, full-healed, do not doubt that; yet this is different. It is all one, perhaps? I have not words in this tongue, or any other, I think.

I shall sit, and pet Miss Rochelle, whom my lady has most cruelly not noticed until I spoke of her, and think, and that is all.

I bid you good day,

 

 

(The garments Louis refers to at the start are some push-up bras I bought recently. – Louise)

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Feast Your Eyes Sunday, Apr 28 2013

I was going to write up the doings of finishing the garden planting and enjoying the results, and our anniversary celebrations, this weekend. Once again, though, it hasn’t happened: I got halfway into it but just wasn’t in the mood to write. There’s also the small problem that if I describe our anniversary in any detail it’ll rapidly get X rated, since it went exactly according to plan … well, apart from falling out of the garden swing. I don’t think that was what he had in mind.

In the meantime, here’s another picture of the beautiful one for you to enjoy (or not, if that’s not your thing).

If anyone’s wondered what Louis thinks about all these nudes of him being on display, don’t worry. We have quite a collection of nude drawings, pastels and watercolours of each other at Home, and that’s just the ones we haven’t taken to the seasonal markets.

Looking at this picture reminds me of something I’ve noticed every time I do a portrait, but never written about.  There’s a word, monoamorous, which seems the best to describe myself, although it’s a devil of a word to find definitions for; Google keeps thinking it should be looking for monogamous, which is not at all what I’m after. The idea I’m going with is of being sexually attracted to one person and one only. It’s not the same as asexuality (although if Louis were not in my life I think that would describe me well); it’s not the same as demisexuality, or being sexually attracted only after an emotional link is formed; it’s not just being faithful to one person, regardless of passing or serious attraction to others. It’s being stirred, shaken and drawn to just one living being, one soul, and utterly unmoved by all others.

I can look at pictures of the most beautiful men and they are no more than aesthetically pleasing. I can see a man with a fine figure in real life, and think either “Nice,” with no more enthusiasm than that, or analyse why the trim-waisted, broad-shouldered figure just isn’t right, just doesn’t do anything for me. I can look at a splendid head of hair, and it only means something because it’s comparable with Louis’s. There isn’t the slightest sense of I’d fancy him. The closest I come to anything like that is when I see a photo – as the one here – and think, “That’ll make a good basis for a portrait.” I looked at this one while altering it, and as the original sitter, it meant nothing. Less than nothing, at that. But when I’d changed it, and it wasn’t a thirty-something, somewhat muscular man with cropped fair hair any more, the magic happened. The latest face template was in place, the colours tweaked, and it was him. It was Louis, his beautiful, solid, comfortable, ambiguously-aged self,  looking improbably comfortable for a man propped on a bench in an old tub.

And looking at him, it wasn’t a hot flush that sent my temperature and pulse soaring. My god, Louis, how beautiful you are!

I shall go now. I interrupted an evening’s knitting to add this comment, and a man in a dressing gown  is sitting waiting for me to come back to the couch.

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Autumn Bliss Tuesday, Apr 16 2013

Two days’ memories and mornings to record: two days Here and There I don’t want to forget.

There is one upside to having this bung knee (turns out to me a small tear in the meniscus with associated sprains and swelling): I can’t walk quickly. When I’m walking quickly, my mind’s usually focussed – insofar as it’s focussed at all! – on where I’m going, be that catching public transport, going shopping, just getting out of a crowd, or whatever.

Being forced to walk slowly has effectively forced the mind to slow down as well, and that makes it much easier to focus on the person walking by my side. I may not catch more glimpses of him than usual, but there are other ways of feeling his presence.

Going through Fawkner this morning, we didn’t have time to stop for a full session of what-happened-yesternight, but we did pause under a beautiful weeping elm for a kiss. I asked Louis what we did, and he said he’d show me. He put a finger on my forehead and I saw a fragment of our day at Home. We were in the back garden, playing Doggy Football. As you can probably guess, there are no rules and no teams; it’s a free-for-all. At one point Louis and I stepped aside for a kiss, and might have taken ourselves off to play games of our own, but we didn’t get the chance. We were promptly swamped by the hairy horde. All this was observed by the kitties (some of them, at least) from vantage points around the garden and back terrace. I have the distinct feeling they were watching through half-slitted eyes and feeling superior while the silly two- and four-legs made fools of themselves.

Walking through Fawkner was as great a pleasure as receiving the memory. We had had our first truly cold night of the season, and it was a perfect Melbourne autumn morning – crisp, cold and sunny. Louis and I strolled through the trees and down different paths from our usual ones, and I felt what I have several times lately, and many times before: love washing over me. It’s hard to describe, but it’s almost the emotional equivalent of wrapping oneself in an eiderdown, the lightest and most comforting ever. Not that that’s all of it, because it’s love coming from someone else, the someone I love the same way, and is not just comforting, it’s joyful. I wouldn’t say it’s euphoric, but it has something of that light-headedness about it.

So many words, so clumsy for trying to capture that feeling!

We had walked a few minutes this way, hand in hand, when Louis tugged mine a little, wanting to stop under a tree for another kiss. I felt his heart: not its beating but the almost tremulous need and wanting, and the simultaneous joy and satisfaction and … safe arrival … that we both feel. The I love you so much, the disbelief, almost, of brand-new love, new discovery that he/she loves me! and then knowing it so well, being so familiar with it, relieved and triumphant restful and all the mix of things that makes our known-each-other-forever marriage a constant honeymoon.

When we walked on, flung his arms up, shouting to the sky. Then he turned a cartwheel. And then another one. And then collected his scarf and hat that he’d lost doing them, and tossed the hat high before catching and donning it.

I arrived at work blissed out on love.

This all came after yesterday’s memory, which I’m not sure how to describe without either telling too much or baulking and not telling enough for my own satisfaction. It was another memory Louis particularly wanted to share, but after I grasped the outline I wanted my own mind’s view; it wasn’t one where I wanted to see myself from his eyes.

It had been another gardening day; we were planting the front flower beds. The short part of the day I recall starts when we were eating lunch, sitting in the front courtyard. I was finishing my cup of tea, and looked across at my husband. I don’t know why; I don’t think he spoke. But looking at him sitting there in his purple tee-shirt and jeans and gumboots … I wanted him. I wanted him right there and then, all love and desire in one. I leaned forward, caught his eye, and went to sit on his lap. We kissed, stood, and kissed again. I asked where he would like to go; surprisingly enough, we had never made love in the front garden before. It’s not for lack of privacy! We just spend most of our outdoor time in the back.

Louis said he knew a good place (yes, he’s used it with other lovers; I just asked) and we went to a shaded, quite dark spot, under a tree, near a hedge. How can I describe this without going too far, or not far enough? I’m still puzzling over that. We were urgent and needful, not playing, this time, but not driven by sex for sex’s sake; it is never like that for us. The pleasuring – call it foreplay if you will – did not last long; it was more deep kissing, kissing each other’s faces and bodies, than a leisurely exploration or detailed, deliberate arousal. I wanted him inside me, he wanted to be inside me, and the coupling was the main part of our loving. Holding him, seeing that beautiful, beautiful face so close, wrapping myself around the solidity of his body, clutching his hair, seeing those dark, clear, brown-green eyes open wide as he climaxed … even a moment that would have made me laugh had I the breath, when he collapsed on me, gasping “God Ceiling Cat” …

Is it any wonder we have been floating on clouds of love these last two days?

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Two New Pictures Sunday, Apr 14 2013

Nothing to write about from this weekend, except to show the two pictures I made today. The first one you can see … the second you can link to. (I’m thinking of your wellbeing, ladies! It’s not quite NSFW … not quite.)

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Spring Planting, This and That Saturday, Apr 13 2013

Another random post, bits and pieces of this and that.

On the earthly front, my legs are less painful than before Easter, which is a mercy. Knee braces (the sort you can buy in a pharmacy) have proven the best treatment so far. I’ve had an MRI and will hear about the results when I next see my osteopath. I’m assuming there’s no dramatic news, since neither she nor my GP have contacted me about it.  I’ve bought a DVD on Tai Chi for beginners, so we’ll see how that helps.

Other than that, I’ve joined the Hot Flushes and Night Sweats Club – oh joy. I’m drenched on a coolish day as I write this. Such fun. It’s not painful or extreme and hasn’t woken me up at night (yet) and I just hope it stays at this level.

Across the veil, Louis and I have our spring planting well under way. The main circular rose bed is done. We’ve returned to the flame-coloured theme of the year before last, with colours from cream, through yellows, golds, orangey-pink, orange and light red. They’re in a free-form arrangement, to give the sense of a swirl of flame, or a sunrise. We’ve now started planting the beds at the front of the house. I haven’t had any long, comprehensive memories for a while. Apart from anything else, it takes me longer to walk through Fawkner Park these days, so I just don’t have twenty-odd minutes to stop and recall things. But here are some moments from our days at Home over the last week or so, and one from this side.

On Tuesday morning, in Fawkner, I felt a little down after a minor unpleasantness here the day before. Louis sent a wave of love – as warm pink and flame coloured as our garden – and I sat down to enjoy it. Moments later I felt like we’d been joined by a furry friend. I couldn’t tell who, although it seemed to be one of the tabbies. Katie? Thomas? The colour was like theirs. But no, it was Abbey, Miss Abigail, first of our Bossy Grey Tabby girls, who passed over in 1990, Mum’s first, much-adored kitty. I don’t think she’s visited before. She prowled over Louis’s and my laps and hunkered down on mine.

At this point a small dog approached – an earthside dog, that is, out for a walk. I’m not sure what breed it was. It had the brown curls of a poodle but was built more like a small spaniel. I said hello and it came ambling up, looking ready to have a pat, but when it was about four-five feet away, it stopped … and left. It didn’t run away, but there was a distinct change from “Oh, friendly human, I’ll stop by,” to “No. Definitely no, I’m leaving.”

Louis said Abbey was hissing at it.

The next Spirit-morning we had breakfast after an energetic morning lovemaking. I asked Louis what he fancied to eat, and he said sausages to go with his bacon and eggs. He wanted a restorative, he said.

We went downstairs, where I paused to say hello to Abbey and thank her for visting yesterday. By the time I reached the kitchen, Louis was standing at the bench drinking orange juice, having put the coffee on and got the breakfast ingredients out.

“How many sausages d’you want?”

“Three.”

“That’s a big manly meal. I thought Spirit was its own restorative?”

“It is, but it is better with breakfast!”

“The Spirit Sausage Restorative – oh dear, I don’t even want to go there,” I said, a moment too late. Foot in mouth is not purely an earthside phenomenon! Louis had already clapped his hand over his mouth, sputtering and turning red, and in a second we’d both dissolved in giggles.

I don’t recall a lot else about breakfast except focussing on Louis’s arm as he put my mug in front of me. He was in his gardening tee-shirt and there was that lovely mature arm and hand, beautiful sight.

“You’re a treat for the eyes,” I said. I don’t remember if he answered.

Since then I’ve had only scrappy memories – sitting on the garden swing chair on a day off from gardening, being slightly startled by a mighty THUMP on top of it, and Louis standing up to see what was there. It was Thomas, doing his famous gargoyle impression.

That’s about all I recall now from our various days at Home. Louis shared a memory from one of them, but given it involved jumping his bones I’m not going to describe it here, other than to say when I said (after seeing his memory) “jumping his bones” is a silly phrase because bones are the least of it, he sniggered and said “Except one!”

How a person can change, given enough centuries …

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